


Protectors

by waterbird13



Series: Tumblr Fics [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Injury, M/M, Sam is sixteen, Weecest, non explicit injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3876223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's too exhausted to be hunting, but John doesn't notice. Dean does, and, predictably, it all goes badly. An older work from Tumblr being moved here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protectors

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!  
> Here's an older wincest/weecest story where Dean does his best to protect Sam. It's being moved in a migration of fics from Tumblr to here.  
> Warnings include weecest (Sam is sixteen, in my mind), non-explicit injury, and John Winchester being portrayed in not the best light.  
> The prompt was: Dean had to protect or save Sam from some monster (preferably were he has to stand in front of Sam who’s on the ground).  
> Hope you enjoy!

            Sam shouldn’t be out here, and Dean knows it.

            Dad didn’t notice, of course, but Dad missed Sam’s first words and his first steps and that A on the science project that he was so damn excited about last month. Dad doesn’t know Sam. But Dean does.

            Dad and Dean had been out on a hunt, and Sam had been back at the apartment, going to class and helping them on the research. But it’s the start of spring break now, so Dad swung by the apartment, ordered Sam to get in, and drove them off for the next hunt.

            Sam is exhausted. Dean vaguely remembers him mentioning and English essay and a math test, and Dean can only guess at the amount of time Sam had to dedicate to the research John asked for, both for this hunt and the last. There’re dark, baggy circles under Sam’s eyes, and his hand is shaking a little bit. Dean isn’t sure if it’s too much coffee, not enough food, or a combination of both that’s causing it.

            There’s a werewolf killing people in the next state, and no matter how hard Dean tried, he couldn’t convince Dad that Sam didn’t need to be here. “Boy needs to start pulling his own weight,” he’d said simply. Dean never argues with Dad—he is the good soldier, he knew some other hunters call him that—but he had wanted to scream then, yell that Sam was an honor-roll student at every school he went to, he did almost all the research, and he trained every day. But he said nothing, and now they’re driving to hunt a werewolf.

            “You okay?” he asks Sam quietly, hoping that Dad can’t hear him over the music. He would accuse Dean of coddling Sam, but, damnit, it’s not coddling to be worried about your baby brother.

            And your boyfriend, but he’s never, ever, going to mention that part to Dad.

            Sam just nods a bit, doesn’t say anything more, probably afraid John will hear him and it’ll start a fight. All they do lately is fight, and, as much as John says it is, it isn’t always Sam’s fault.

            They get there about forty-five minutes before moonrise, and Dad doles out guns loaded with silver bullets and directs them to the park that’s become this things local hunting ground. This is the third and final night of the full moon sequence, and already four bodies have been found in the park. The locals are going nuts. Dad and Dean have FBI badges on them, just in case the locals get too curious. Sam’s too young to pull that off, so Dean just hopes no one finds him.

            Really, Sam shouldn’t be out here.

            They divide it into regions and each take their section, Sam giving Dean’s hand a small squeeze before he goes. “Stay safe,” he whispers, the sound practically getting carried away by the breeze.

            Dean nods. “You too.” Then they’re alone, and it’s quiet.

            About an hour later, there’s a crash and a bitten-off scream that Dean knows is Sam’s. He takes off at a sprint, leaping over a park bench to get to Sam.

            Sam is on the ground, bleeding from what seem to be massive gashes in his stomach. His gun is about ten feet away, completely useless.

            “Sammy!” Dean shouts, rushing towards his brother, even as Sam is wordlessly trying to tell him something.

            He gets hit from the side, sprawls out on his back before scrambling away, towards Sam. He’s not injured, just winded, but he’s lost his gun and he’s staring down the biggest werewolf he’s ever seen.

            He pulls out his knife, puny in comparison to the werewolf, but the last thing he has to defend himself and Sam, who may well be bleeding out in this damn park. “Not gonna help,” Sam wheezes.

            “Shh,” Dean soothes, never taking his eyes off the monster. “Gonna be okay, Sammy.”

            Sam makes a sound that Dean thinks is supposed to be a snort, and reaches a hand out to squeeze the back of Dean’s ankle before his grip weakens, and Dean thinks he probably passed out.

            There’s gunshots, suddenly, and the beast goes down to reveal John Winchester on the other side, calm and collected, gun still pointed where the werewolf once stood.

            “What happened?” he barks.

            Dean shrugs. “Took Sam out. I came for Sam, knocked me down and my gun away.”

            Dad makes a face that makes Dean’s insides drop. Disappointment. “We’ll talk about this later,” he says, a promise and a threat all rolled into one. “Get your brother to the hospital. I’ll clean this up.”

            Sam is dead weight, but Dean manages to get him to the car and to the hospital, remembers to grab the fake insurance cards and manages to make up some story about a dog attack, Sam taking a shortcut home, something stupid. They stitch him up while he’s still unconscious and then admit him, and Dean refuses to leave his side.

            Dad doesn’t bother to come by.

            Sam wakes up just after sunrise, weak light streaming through the hospital room blinds.

            Dean smiles, though all he wants to do is cry in relief. “Hey, Sammy,” he says.

            Sam grins, though it looks like it hurts. “Hey.”

            “How you feelin’, kid?”

            Sam grimaces. “I’ll be okay. How bad—how bad was Dad?”

            Dean keeps his face carefully neutral. “It’s gonna be okay.”

            Sam sighs. “He’s pissed.”

            Dean carefully takes Sam’s chin in his hand, turning Sam so they’re looking each other in the eyes. “It’ll blow over. He’ll shout, he’ll leave. I’ll stay, it’ll be just you and me for a while, okay?”

            Sam’s eyes, exhausted and full of pain, light up for the first time in a while. “Yeah?”

            Dean grins. “’Course, Sammy. Gonna get you better, then we’re gonna have some fun.”

            Sam nods. “’M tired,” he says, yawning and snuggling back into his pillows.

            Dean kisses his forehead. “go to sleep, bitch,” he says fondly.

            Right before he drifts off, Dean swears he hears Sam mutter a quiet, “Jerk.”


End file.
